


Checkmate

by Choke-a-Bro (Vanya_Deyja)



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Knifeplay, M/M, Masturbation, brotherhood era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2019-12-13
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:56:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21778678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vanya_Deyja/pseuds/Choke-a-Bro
Summary: Gladio is a little cocky at sixteen but despite all claims to dominance Ignis Scientia's daggers do something wonderful and awful to his brain...
Relationships: Gladiolus Amicitia/Ignis Scientia
Comments: 16
Kudos: 97





	Checkmate

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so, sorry I disappeared for like two weeks. My eyes were hurting really bad so I had to go to an optometrist and that sucked. I have been writing but not much because it hurt so I had to fix eyes, then write stuff to post and now I'm back!

Gladio is sixteen and cocky. In another year or two his training will extend to teaching the Prince how to fight as tradition dictates. But the Marshall, who has been overseeing most of Gladio’s training, seems concerned by this. Gladio doesn’t understand the concern; he can take down most any Glaive with his broadsword. What’s there to be worried about? He’s strong!

“The Prince is going to have a very different build to you,” Cor swats him around the back of the head curtly. “He was a sickly child and he’s not going to bulk up easily. He’s going to need to be fast, clever. He’s going to need to focus his attacks into other avenues. He can’t just brute strength every blow like you can.”

“He’ll bulk up eventually,” Gladio shrugs, unconcerned.

Cor swats him again. “Besides that; you’re getting too big for your boots. Yeah, you can take down most enemies but if someone comes at you in a different style they’re going to put you on your ass. Soon as we change the game you are going to remember you’re a novice.”

“I’ll figure it out.” Gladio puffs himself up. “Get me someone different all you want. I’m not an idiot. I’ll be able to figure out a strategy.”

Cor sighs.

“Alright,” the Marshall declares, “let’s test how tough you are.”

Gladio expects the Marshall to offer to fight him himself. He’s excited by the prospect. Surely, it would take a very skilled fighter to challenge him in his current state? But, no, the Marshall announces;

“I’m going to match our scheduled training sessions with Ignis’ training. You two can spar.”

“ _Scientia?_ ” Gladio gawks, insulted. “I can take that loser with my eyes closed! Have you seen him? He’s so scrawny!”

Cor thwacks him again.

“We’ll see about that, brat.” Cor assures.

Gladio hates it when Cor treats him like a kid. He’s a warrior. He can handle himself. He just wants the Marshall and his Father to take him seriously.

The following day when Gladio is presented to Ignis he’s not impressed. The braces have come off but Scientia’s still got those dorky glasses and at fifteen he’s still a total beanpole.

“I’m looking forward to this,” Ignis tells him, almost friendly.

“Yeah, sure.” Gladio snorts.

Ignis frowns, subtly, but Gladio isn’t really worried about insulting the other boy. He can take him.

When they enter the arena Crowe Altius, Ignis’ tutor, starts into him;

“Ignis I thought we agreed on lances?”

“I changed my mind,” Ignis counters, “I’d rather use daggers, Miss Crowe, if that’s acceptable?”

Cor and Crowe share a glance. Gladio scoffs. Daggers are a death sentence. Gladio’s got his fuck-off broadsword. How’s Ignis going to close the gap with daggers? It’s madness.

“Sure Ignis,” Crowe permits to Gladio’s surprise.

“Thank you,” Ignis bows his head a little. When he stands again he readjusts his glasses and takes stance.

Gladio snorts.

“Alright, go.” Cor instructs.

Gladio charges.

He’s intent to have Ignis backed into a corner almost immediately.

Ignis doesn’t even flinch. He let’s Gladio swing at him and—

Gladio grunts as Ignis’ leg connects with his gut, throwing him out of swing and making him stumble to one side.

“Your stance’s too wide.” Ignis remarks casually. “You’re exposed.”

“Whatever,” Gladio grumbles, getting his footing again. They’ve just started. This isn’t over yet.

He comes at Ignis again.

Ignis does something bizarre where he deflects the edge of Gladio’s broadsword with his daggers and slides right up to him and—

“Oomph!” Gladio grunts as Ignis’ knee connects hard with his stomach.

He gets split second before Ignis’ twists the dagger in his hand and slams his knuckles into Gladio’s face.

Gladio falls back, hitting the dirt.

He wheezes like a turtle.

“Ignis stop playing around!” Crowe orders.

_Playing?_

Gladio drags himself up. Ignis didn’t pull his punch at all and, for a small guy, that punch feels like it’s going to bruise.

“You playing, Scientia?” Gladio grumbles.

“Aren’t you?” Ignis taunts.

“Not anymore,” Gladio promises.

“Good.” Ignis resumes his stance.

“Alright, go!” Cor starts them again.

Gladio doesn’t get to charge this time. Ignis barrels at him, forcing his way in before Gladio can even get his sword up. Gladio tries to deflect, to hold him off, but with a dazzling display of handiwork Ignis slices his knuckles and, on reflex, Gladio totally loses grip of his sword.

In less than thirty seconds Ignis has his dagger thrust up against Gladio’s neck, a breath away from slicing skin.

Gladio’s hand is stinging, bleeding, but he doesn’t dare move. He wants to think Ignis Scientia, dork amongst dorks, wouldn't actually slice his throat but he’s got this look in his eyes that tells Gladio to stay fucking still or else.

“Alright, drop it Ignis,” Crowe orders.

Ignis lingers, just for a moment, but withdraws his daggers.

Gladio remembers how to breathe.

He pants, heart pounding, and tries to take stock of the wound on his hand.

“Now do you see my point?” Cor asks, throwing an arm around Gladio’s shoulder.

“I…” Gladio huffs, viciously embarrassed. “I guess…”

“Thanks Ignis,” Cor continues. “I’d like to steal you for a few more sessions. If that’s acceptable with Altius?”

“Does us good to mix things up,” Crowe shrugs, smirking with gentle amusement. “Seems like Ignis was enjoying himself anyway.”

“Something like that,” Ignis deflects. “I’m happy to help, Marshall.”

* * *

Gladio is mortified. Ignis Scientia, king of the dorks, beat the ever loving snot out of him. Worse, Ignis seemed to very much enjoy putting Gladio on his ass.

Gladio tries not to think about it. He’s just so angry. So _humiliated_. 

When he locks himself in his bedroom later that night he decides to take care of his frustrations the only way a teenage boy knows how; masturbating.

He brings up images on his phone; tits, big butts. That sort of thing.

Slipping his hand into his boxers he wraps his fingers around his cock. He’s not really in the mood but he’s got a lot of pent up energy so it might take a moment to get his cock to cooperate with the operation.

When the porn doesn’t seem to be doing anything Gladio slumps back, eyes closed, and focuses on what his imagination can summon up. He’s a typical guy, mostly, but he kind of likes the whole process of a romance. Seduction, coaxing… that all gets him hard. Fucking deep and rough is way more satisfying when your partner’s into it, right?

He tries to summon something up, something wicked, but…

His mind keeps circling back to Ignis’ dagger pressed against his throat.

Oh, oh that’s—

No, brain, stop that.

But it keeps coming back. Ignis, lithe and steely eyed, ruthless, holding Gladio at bay with nothing but a promise stowed in the power of his glare. Oh gods, Gladio’s brain starts to elaborate on the point. Ignis ordering him to get his cock out, Ignis’s unarmed hand stroking his cock, bringing him to the edge—

Fuck, brain _stop_.

Gladio begging, moaning, pleading with Ignis to let him cum. Ignis’s fingers secure around the base of his cock, Ignis’ dagger holding him still and at bay, the promise of how Gladio could physically overpower the smaller and just take what he wants if Ignis didn’t have him secured at a knife’s edge like this…

Gladio is way too far gone to argue with his brain anymore.

He strokes hard down his aching cock, slit leaking, and—

 _‘You playing, Scientia?’_ Gladio hears back in his brain.

Ignis, smug; ‘ _aren’t you?_ ’

Gladio moans behind his clenched teeth and blows a load into his boxers.

Gladio lies there, panting, and starts to come back to himself slowly but surely.

Oh…

Oh fuck…

He pulls the pillow over his face and groans.

He just came thinking of Ignis Scientia.

* * *

Gladio’s managed to compose himself a little by their next training session. It was just a one off, an accident of adolescent hormones, and its not going to happen again. He’s going to prove he can take Ignis down and that will dispel any romantic notions of the other boy. Gladio’s _straight_.

But then Cor has to ruin everything.

“We’re going to scale it back,” the Marshall tells both boys, “we’re going to start with hand-to-hand and then work back up to weapons.”

Gladio isn’t sure if the blood in his body knows where to go. Up to his burning cheeks? Down to his aching groin? So many powerful impulses.

Ignis looks nonchalant about the whole thing.

Gladio schools himself. He’ll just reassert his dominance and these feelings will fade. It’ll be fine. He’s going to repay Ignis for that punch today. It bruised for days.

So Gladio takes stance, watching Ignis prepare himself and—

Ignis smirks, just for a split second, and Gladio’s whole life flashes before his eyes.

“Go!” Cor yells.

Ignis sweeps Gladio’s feet straight out from under him.

Gladio hits the training mats hard.

“Pay attention Amicitia!” The Marshall grumbles.

“Sorry,” Gladio wheezes, hurrying back up to his feet.

Oh Ignis is just enjoying fucking with him now.

Which is awful because it’s so _hot_.

Gladio tries again but its like he’s moving in butter. He seems to be working on a whole different frequency to Ignis. The things Ignis can do with his legs…

It’s interesting, actually; Ignis doesn’t have beefy arms like Gladio but he’s got strong thighs and Gladio’s not expecting the upward attack. Likewise Ignis can’t overpower Gladio but he can very skilfully disturb his center of gravity and totally fuck up his balance which is the key to disarming any opponent.

Gladio hits the mats for the fourth time.

He lays there for a second, sweating and panting. He doesn’t even know how to start countering Ignis. He seems to have a wide array of angles. He never does the same thing twice. Gladio pushes up on his elbows.

Ignis is damn good at this.

“Okay,” he pants, “time out.”

Ignis straightens, slackening out of a fighting stance.

“How do you keep doing that?” Gladio asks.

Ignis blinks at him, absorbing the fascination in Gladio’s voice. No grumbling, no insults, just genuine mystification.

“Get up and I’ll show you,” Ignis offers.

So Gladio does.

“You’re playing with hands.” Ignis begins, grabbing Gladio’s fists and pulling him back into stance. “You want to dislodge the weapon or otherwise pin the big hitters. I’m not going to win that way. I can’t push as hard. It’s all about your balance. Feet, legs, surprisingly delicate in most fighters considering they’re keeping you rooted. Most people don’t pay as much attention as they should.”

“Right,” Gladio nods. “So how do I…?”

“Hips.” Ignis presses a hand to Gladio’s navel. “You hold your center of gravity at all costs. Low and sturdy. You anticipate the impact because you know I’m going for whatever angle will get you on your ass fastest.”

“Okay.” Gladio nods. “But then what?”

“Deal with absorbing the first hit,” Cor pipes up patiently behind them, “when you can endure the first strike then we move to how you’re going to counter.”

Gladio gets put back on his ass again very quickly but by the end of their sessions he manages to take a kick to his gut without toppling over. Ignis tries him again, battering his side, but Gladio holds his ground and keeps trying. Gladio tries—

Ignis boots him in the face and he falls back.

Gladio wheezes.

“How the fuck do you kick that high?” Gladio reels. He’s going to be seeing that incredible contortion of Ignis’ body in his dreams tonight.

“That was good!” Ignis applauds him, offering a hand.

Gladio takes it, letting the smaller teen help him up.

“I got my ass handed to me.” Gladio grumbles.

“You took more that time, it was harder to force you down,” Ignis consoles. “That was the goal.”

“Exactly,” Cor nods. “Keep it up and we can work on countering next time.”

Gladio nods weakly.

* * *

Gladio wants to say he doesn’t jack off to Ignis again but he totally jacks off to Ignis again. Ignis’ tiny _‘I’m going to ruin you_ ’ smirk, Ignis’ warm hand against his stomach, Ignis close, Ignis hiking his whole leg up to plant his sneaker in Gladio’s face…

The training sessions are the worst. Gladio looks forward to them, despite all common sense, because there’s something overwhelmingly erotic about Ignis kicking his ass. Apparently Gladio’s more of a masochist than he thought. He never got it before, now he totally gets it. Being the tough guy? Saving the damsel? That’s fun. The damsel handing your ass to you and demanding you say thank you Ma’am? That’s _hot_.

Gladio is starting to get his feet. He can take more of Ignis’ assault and he’s even starting to find ways to counter. When Ignis strikes out to take down Gladio he has to compromise his own balance. If Gladio can just deflect the motion well enough he can hold Ignis back and throw Ignis’ own footing. That will buy him a few seconds to take Ignis down. It’s a narrow window but Gladio’s sure he can do it if he tries hard enough.

The problem is as they get better they spend longer dancing on the training mats. When Ignis isn’t just slamming him off his feet straight away Gladio’s got time to grab him, to feel him, to be painfully close…

He hoped fighting back would remove some of the mystification but the curse is implanted now. All thoughts of putting Ignis in his place have become less about revenge for his humiliation and more about dominance. Gladio doesn’t want to see Ignis on his ass. He wants to feel Ignis under him.

He’s so fucked.

They’ve moved up in intensity today. Ignis has his daggers but Gladio is unarmed. Its another ploy to put Gladio on the back foot and make him think. He needs to be strategic rather than strong. But it’s really hard to think because Ignis is fucking sexy with those blades. They’re extensions of his nimble fingers.

Gladio manages to secure Ignis’ wrists and he knows he can overpower Ignis and force him back but Ignis holds his ground. Ignis must be looking for a window to exploit and take him down. Ignis only ever engages in displays of brute strength when he’s working a grander scheme. He can’t win strength tests but he can use them to his advantage if Gladio focuses too hard on the physical and forgets his footing.

They’re very close, both looking for a window, when Ignis laughs and whispers;

“Nice stiffy, Amicitia.”

Gladio pales, instantly forgets everything.

And its exactly enough of a distraction for Ignis to turn the tide.

In short order Gladio’s on the training mats, he doesn’t even comprehend how it happens, he’s too addled. All he knows is Ignis is straddling him with one dagger at his neck, the other ready to pierce between his ribs to his heart, smirking proudly.

“What was that?” Cor grumbles from the bench. “You were doing good Gladio!”

“S-sorry!” Gladio calls back, still not daring to move. Partially because Ignis hasn’t withdrawn his razor-sharp blades, partially because if he stands up right now his rock hard cock is going to give him away.

Ignis lingers for a moment, applying just enough pressure, not lethal but warning. Gladio can’t even swallow without Ignis drawing blood.

Snorting, Ignis eases off him and offers a hand to help him up.

Gladio takes the hand and tries frantically to think of something else. Ignis is totally aware he’s hard but Cor is doing something else on his phone and seems, mercifully, not to have noticed.

“Maybe we should call it quits for the day?” Ignis suggests. “I think we’re both losing focus.”

Ignis has this knowing little smirk that only seems to appear when they make eye contact and disappears as soon as Cor returns to the conversation.

“Perhaps,” the Marshall permits. “Go shower boys. I’ll lock up.”

Ignis saunters into the changing room like he owns the place.

Gladio is ashamed to say he takes the farthest stall and frantically jerks his cock under the spray. He cums _so hard_.

* * *

The Marshall leaves them in the foyer of the Citadel. Both Ignis and Gladio have to take the elevator up to their respective guardians' offices to get lifts home. It’s almost dinner time so the Citadel is easing to night shift.

Gladio doesn’t know what to say when he and Ignis are alone in the elevator. He doesn’t even want to make eye contact.

“You know,” Ignis murmurs, “I am flattered.”

“I prefer girls,” Gladio grumbles defensively, trying to cling to his masculinity somehow.

“And I prefer twinks, what’s your point?” Ignis drawls.

Gladio’s not sure how to answer.

“If you want my number Amicitia—”

“I don’t.” Gladio insists stubbornly.

Ignis moves like an animal.

In less than ten seconds Gladio finds himself slammed up against the elevator backing with a pocket knife up against his windpipe. Where did Ignis get a pocket knife? Does he always have one? Fuck, fuck—

Gladio’s forgotten how to breathe and his blood is racing south all over again.

“Give me your phone,” Ignis orders expectantly, other hand extended by Gladio’s hip.

Gladio doesn’t argue, he just hands it over.

Ignis presses his weight into Gladio, their hips together, Ignis’ knife against his skin and Gladio’s eyes roll back as he contains his moan.

Ignis uses his distraction to, very calmly, type his number into Gladio’s contacts.

Then, casual as you like, Ignis shoves Gladio’s cell back in his pant pocket and withdraws.

It’s like all the air comes back at once.

“Later Gladiolus,” Ignis dismisses as the elevator swishes open on the sixteenth floor. He steps out, he’s gone and Gladio is left legless waiting for the twentieth floor.

Fuck…

Gladio is so screwed.


End file.
